


A Disappearing World (And A Bygone Age)

by Valmouth



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, The Sound of Music - Rodgers/Hammerstein/Lindsay & Crouse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - The Sound of Music Fusion, M/M, Not a Jedi Obi-Wan, Post-Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith, Qui-Gon Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:04:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9024959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valmouth/pseuds/Valmouth
Summary: “A certain gentleman requires a tutor for his children. The journey isn’t far and he is a most respectable person. He was highly commended in the last war, fighting in the Regent’s guard. And who would think to find a Jedi Knight in such a humble situation. A tutor to the Captain’s seven children.”





	1. Solving Problems

It was… not quite what he had envisioned for himself.

The dawn found him yet again on the summit of the green foothills, breathing deeply as he meditated.

The rising sun was pure energy in the Force, lit by the spark of grass and clean, open air. It purified his spirit.

Here, where he was closest to the sky, where awakening souls flickered gently into consciousness in the town spread out below him, he could almost pretend to a security he hadn’t felt in too long.

Of course, when the sun had risen, he remembered he hadn’t yet found it.

Not even here.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He returned via the back streets, shoulders hunched beneath the threadbare cloak he wore in the place of robes that had once marked him for authority and purpose.

He often found that he didn’t miss the illusion of power. 

And even in his increasingly habitual state of neutral melancholy, he smiled as he ducked through the low archway to his sanctuary. He knew what his former Padawan would have said about bending stiff necks, as he knew what his former Master would have said about presenting his head to unseen enemies.

There was still some joy in these memories, old and familiar as they were, but the smile faded when the inevitable spiking betrayal dissipated the serenity of his morning’s meditation. He released his emotions to the Force more as a matter of habit than as any resolute desire to be rid of them.

“It is not wise to leave our abbey so regularly,” a rich voice remarked.

He came to a stop and turned his head. “Mother Abbess,” he acknowledged pleasantly.

She sat on a bench, shrouded in black from head to foot, but her eyes were shrewd and her face, though worn with age, was still lively with life.

He clasped his arms before him and bowed slightly.

“Do these walls feel so confining?” she asked sympathetically.

“Not at all,” he denied.  

“And yet you rise before the sun and go up to the mountains.”

“Never that far,” he insisted, and then grimaced wryly, “My stamina is not what it used to be. Though I could wish it was.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “Some days I too wish to return to the mountains. I was brought up on them, you know, and on days like today they still call to me. I can almost hear them… sing.”

He smiled.

“Does that sound strange?”

“Not to me.”

“I suppose not.” She studied him intently. “Then tell me, Master Jedi, now that we have established why you leave, why do you return?”

He heard footsteps behind him, and it spoke to the days that he had spent here in quiet rest that he did not move his hand to the lightsabre hidden at his side. He did not turn either, except when he was certain that the little semi-circle of women standing at his back could not be ignored for longer without appearing impolite.  

They faced him with considerably less amiability than the head of their community.

“Sisters,” he acknowledged.

One of them shifted uncomfortably, averting her eyes.

“I hope we are not intruding,” she murmured.

“Our conversation was not a private one, Sister Bernice,” Mother Abbess said pleasantly.

They looked at each other.

“So you have not told him.”

“I have not.”

He frowned slightly. “Is there news?”

“None of the outside world,” Sister Berthe said briskly.

“But we have been praying for guidance ever since you arrived here asking for sanctuary and we believe we have found the solution to your problem,” Sister Margaretta informed him.

“I’m grateful for your concern but…”

“A certain gentleman requires a tutor for his children. He lives just beyond the village. The journey isn’t far and he is a most respectable person. He was highly commended in the last war, fighting in the Regent’s guard.”

“I am not a tutor.”

“You do have experience training young ones, yes?” Sister Berthe questioned.

“Experience, yes, though not perhaps…”

“Then it will do until something more suitable can be arranged,” she decided.

“With the greatest respect, it will not,” he challenged, goaded into abandoning his politeness.

Sister Berthe was as assured as he was – and the stare she gave him told him that she had seen perhaps more of the world than her fellows, and found him not in the least an impressive spectacle. She merely held her ground.

“I understand the difficulty I have placed you in,” he said, “I will not subject you to the dangers of my presence any more than I can help, but this is not a viable solution. It is too public.”

“But they are a very good family,” Sister Sophia said quietly, “A very refined house. After your life in Coruscant, you know.”

They all stiffened.

She blushed unhappily and fell silent.

He didn’t.

He found himself too worn for more than base sadness these days.

“Safety is all I need, Sister,” he said gently, “A refined house is not a wise choice for a wanted criminal.”

“Neither is an abbey,” Sister Berthe said firmly, “Especially not one forbidden to men, on a planet with closed galactic ports.”

“Sister,” he said.

“Master Qui-Gon Jinn, you have no other choice!” she interrupted sharply.

They all stiffened again. Sister Bernice looked around furtively.

“There is always a choice, Sister,” Mother Abbess replied calmly.

Through all of this she had been silent, watching him fence through this fruitless conversation while she weighed up the pros and cons. Qui-Gon Jinn, refugee from Coruscant and survivor of a destroyed Order, turned to face her again as she rose from her bench.

He thought distantly that they made a strange scene – he in his tattered Jedi tunic still faintly battle-stained, she with her pristine and suffocating black habit, and he knew what it was that he had asked of her when he arrived in the darkness all those nights ago.

He knew, perhaps, better than she did; he had seen the battles and the bloodshed and the carnage.

Here, on Ortho Secondus, the madness of the Empire had not yet fallen. There were no garrisoned clones, no ambassadors of Palpatine. The flag was still blue and silver; the guard uniforms old-fashioned and bright. The buildings still stood, the farms still prospered, the Court of the old noble houses still sat at the Capital only four solar days’ away.

It was the only reason they had survived, he believed, for the Court in its panic over the crumbling corruption of the Republic Senate had closed its borders to all galactic travel some time ago and refused any interaction with the outside world that did not fall within the limits of its carefully defined trade structures.

But then the peace of the little village beyond the Abbey walls reminded him that silence had only been temporarily shut out, only momentarily escaped, and that across a hundred star systems millions of innocents had died. His friends had died.

He could still close his eyes and see the bodies in the Temple, the younglings cut down where they stood helpless in the Council chambers.

His mouth hardened. “I will not teach young ones,” he said, “I will look for farm work if I must.”

“And how long will you last as a stranger in our lands?” Mother Abbess asked him, “What protection can a farmer give you if the guards come for you? A noble house may not be a wise choice but they will hardly dare a night raid.”

Sister Berthe sniffed. “And the Captain is a stranger himself. Who knows where he finds his servants.”

“Now, now,” Mother Abbess chided gently.

Qui-Gon frowned slightly. “Is this the chalet estate just beyond the village?”

“It is.”

Sister Sophia piped up helpfully. “The old Lord had no heirs. The estate was empty for a long time before the Captain brought his children here to live. His wife died, you know. A sad business. The Regent took a personal interest in the Captain’s future.”

“I see,” Qui-Gon said slowly.

“A man with connections,” Mother Abbess stressed, “And who would think to find a Jedi Knight in such a humble situation. A tutor to the Captain’s seven children.”

“Seven?” he echoed.

“All ranging between the ages of five to seventeen, I believe.”

“Poor mites, with their mother dead,” Sister Bernice sighed.

“There are many across this galaxy who have suffered that same fate,” he returned.

“That does not soften their grief, Master Jinn,” Mother Abbess admonished, “You know that as well as I.”

“Mother Abbess,” he sighed, his patience fraying, “Am I to understand that you can no longer provide sanctuary?”

She gazed back at him steadily. “We will always provide sanctuary to those in need, but I think you already know that the dangers you’re running from will not respect our borders in their hunt for you.”

She came to him then, compassion on her face, and laid a hand on his sleeve. “Our only shields are these walls and our prayers. We do not carry lightsabres; we have limited means. And even the mountains can be dangerous when the dark falls.”

“What you need,” Sister Berthe elaborated, “Is an army. Or at least a military captain.”

Qui-Gon Jinn breathed in deeply. “I will consider it,” he said.


	2. Mistakes Without Defiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't know what I was smoking when I wrote this but I reread this chapter the other day and almost fell asleep over it. So editing is in order. Nothing of the plot or characterisation has changed; just added some exposition and narrative. There will probably be further adjustments as I reread and rewrite and marshal some life into this. Thanks to everyone who has read so far. ^_^

 

He had, naturally, very little choice in the matter.

Leaving the sanctuary of the abbey was not an act he took lightly but he could hardly refuse to leave. 

The shadow of the Empire was beginning to creep over this star system and even quiet villages such as these were murmuring about the Emperor and the Fall of the Republic. Stories were beginning to spread across the Galaxy of the brutality of the Clone Army as they hunted down those declared traitors by the new political administration. It was not a good time for ordinary people to harbour Jedi. 

He had no illusions about his own safety. Darth Sidious wanted the Jedi eradicated, and Darth Vader wanted him dead. Should they discover his location, it would mean a renewed hunt across the galaxies. It would mean deprivation and strain; the physical ache of outrunning an entire army with unlimited resources. Ultimately, it would mean his death.

Death was a natural part of life but he wasn’t often tempted to submit passively to it.

There had been times, of course: Xanatos’ fall, his imprisonment by Jenna Zan Arbor, Tahl’s death, facing Dooku on Geonosis. He didn’t dwell on them but to forget them – or ignore them – was to pretend to a calm that wasn’t real.

Yoda had once told him that true peace came from facing the darkness, and conquering it.

“Watchful you must be,” he had been warned, “Always vigilant.”

He had tried to be.  

Ironic that he had guarded against the faults in his own nature, and failed utterly to protect two apprentices from the faults in theirs. 

The sunlight was bright as he walked down the cobbled streets, the heat sharper than it first appeared. He could feel it through his cloak.

He wondered ruefully if this most basic of disguises would fool anyone.

No one here would know the difference. The villagers watched him as he passed by because he was a stranger, and because he did not look like them. He was too tall, too raw-boned. Too certain of himself. A figure built to impose his will, not to fade into the background. A useful trait n negotiations with heads of state but an embarrassing liability for a man who was meant to be subservient.

And yet what was a Jedi but subservient to the needs of others?

All of his training had been undertaken for someone else’s convenience; not his own.

This was the eternal paradox of the Jedi code - that he could know his own strengths and talents but not take pride in them    

The Jedi guarded against pride: pride led to self-love, self-love led to ambition, ambition led to greed, and greed led to the Dark Side.

This was not to be confused with self-worth. Self-worth was important. Self-worth was a proper understanding of his qualities and his place in the universe. One life was not important against the many but every life had value.

The lives cut down in the Temple had had value.

The lives ended in the war had had value.

There had been value in Anakin’s life.

He turned his head as though to escape the thought but it followed its clear path across his mind. Regret flooded him, and guilt, and anger. Sadness and love were never far behind.

He let the emotions flow through him before giving them up to the Force between one breath and the next, turning his face up to the dappled shade beneath the tree-lined road.

A road that led him, inevitably, to the respectable house the nuns had thought so much more suitable a choice than their secluded abbey.

A tutor to seven children, he mused, and logic dictated that he turn on his heel and simply walk away. The nuns would have no knowledge of his whereabouts should he vanish between their abbey and the captain's estate. The captain's family wouldn't be at risk for harbouring a wanted fugitive when the time came. And his own safety - so small a consideration in the grand scheme of the Galaxy but such a personal one - might be guaranteed somewhere else. 

Not on Tatooine, where a friend watched over the infant son of Anakin Skywalker. Not on Alderaan, where Bail hid Anakin's infant daughter right under the nose of the Emperor. Certainly not on Dagobah, he decided, and felt a low hum of amusement of wash through him. He had never found swamps and solitude particularly restful.

He judged that the resistance should be starting on the Core Planets, and he was too old now to be anything but subservient to the needs of the Galaxy. He would be needed soon - as an adviser, as a leader, or perhaps just as a distraction or a martyr. He could be any of those or all at once. It wouldn't matter. Life, like death, was natural, and one life could be valuable even as it was sacrificed for the many. 

But the time for that was not now.

He paused at the gate, observing the manicured grounds and the blank-sheened windows of the graceful old building.

He might have stayed there longer – indefinitely – if a gardener hadn’t come out and returned his gaze, wary and distrustful, until he put out his hand to the latch and slid it slowly open.

“I was sent by the abbey,” he said calmly, “To see the captain.”

The gardener pointed him up to the house.

“Thank you,” he said, and accepted the gesture as a cue from the Force.

The seneschal who opened the door was equally taciturn, though his mouth opened long enough to command him to remain in the front hallway.

He remained.

He stood without moving, his bag of worldly goods at his feet, and he waited.

He waited while the clock ticked its rhythm through in whatever passed for the measurement of moments on this world. He waited while the wood creaked and the wind rustled. He waited while the shadows began to creep ever so slowly across the floor as the sun rose to its peak. When he judged that he had waited long enough to show his placidity, he moved.

He went to the first set of doors and opened it.

It opened to a sitting room. The windows were shut, the curtains drawn. The shuttered darkness was almost cold but the air smelt fresh enough.

He shut the door and moved to the next one.

This one opened to a small space with hooks and hanging racks.

He shut this door too and moved to the third.

This one opened to a far larger reception room.

He blinked and raised his eyebrows in spite of himself.

He had seen the fine halls of Naboo and Alderaan. He had been amongst the rich offices of the Republic Senate. He had walked through palaces and finely crafted state rooms, been feted on worlds that offered luxuries this planet had only dreamed of. Yet something in the gaudy, gilded, mirrored walls was quite briefly enough to catch his breath in his throat.

He entered from curiosity – to peer up at the shrouded chandelier, and touch the empty sconce with its dull gold mimicry of trailing vines.

His fingers were still tracing the rough surface when the door crashed open.

He turned his head in an instance, one foot shifting immediately to launch into a defensive position.

The figure in the doorway stood with his back to the light, already turning to unblock the doorway in pointed invitation.

Back and shoulders rigidly straight, Qui-Gon observed, a hard set to the jawline even beneath a beard. Eyes blue, hair a reddish-gold. Severely neat appearance paired with what was clearly a suit of military cut.

He dusted off his hands and exited the room.

The very first words he received were – “In the future, you will remember that there are some rooms in this house that are off-limits.”

He dipped his head. “I apologise if I intruded where I shouldn’t have.”

“Your name?”

“Jon Quinn.”

Something flickered beneath the blue eyes.

“You are not a novitiate,” the man snapped suddenly.

“No,” Qui-Gon agreed.

The silence stretched taunt.

The man moved to walk several paces to either side of him, as though examining him from other angles would expose some hidden secret.

Then as suddenly as the restless pacing began, it stopped.

“My name is Captain Ben Kenobi. You will address me as Captain, or Captain Kenobi. I would have preferred a woman of good sense and some breeding but since the last one only stayed two hours, I hope you’ll be an improvement.”

“Two hours?”

“You are the twelfth in a long line of tutors who have come here to look after my children since their mother died.”

“I see. And what went wrong with the previous eleven?”

“Nothing,” the captain informed him coldly, “On the children’s part.”

Qui-Gon noted the bite of hostility and nodded once. It was a gesture that could be taken as agreement or simple acknowledgement; either could be enough to soothe this unexpected anger.

“You’ll find that order is the watchword for this house,” Kenobi continued, “I expect you to maintain it. The children may be unable to attend school but while they are home, I will not have them dreaming about the place. Every morning you will drill them in their studies, every afternoon they will be expected to complete their physical exercises in the grounds. Bedtime and mealtimes will be strictly adhered to; no exceptions.”

“What about the evenings?”

Kenobi frowned. “What of them?”

“You have mentioned mornings and afternoons. I assume the evenings will be time in which they have some recreation.”

Kenobi waved a hand. “Of course, of course. They will have their books to read, holovids, letters to write to friends. That sort of thing. At all times, they will conduct themselves with the utmost orderliness and decorum. You will maintain control of them.”

“Control seems a strong word for children, Captain Kenobi.”

“Then call it discipline, if you prefer, but I expect you to maintain it.”

Qui-Gon thought of challenging the matter further but acquiesced. Kenobi was rigidly tense, eyes and mouth hard, his being almost crackling with the force of an anger that was disproportionate, and oddly personal.

“I think it’s time you met your charges,” Kenobi said.

And before Qui-Gon could properly comprehend the purpose of a small metal tube, it was held up, blown into, and a piercing whistle rattled through the house.

It was only the space of several heartbeats before it was answered by a thundering from the landing above, and then a miniature tide of feet and forms burst out of shut doorways and darted down the stairs.

The transition between near-silence and desperate noise was almost instantaneous.

The house seemed to suddenly writhe with movement, with life, and from nowhere it came until suddenly it was standing there before him in a line, fairly vibrating with a strange kind of thrumming energy.

The children lined up in order of height, from the tallest to the smallest, all dressed in carefully coordinated costumes, all as scrupulously neat as their father. Not a hair was out of place, not a smudge showed on a stocking or trouser-leg.

Too many years of negotiating had taught Qui-Gon Jinn to hold his tongue until he had assessed what it was that troubled him about a situation; to say nothing even when he disliked a notion, or a custom. Too many years of negotiating had also taught him when his opinion would only fall on deaf ears.

And perhaps, Qui-Gon reminded himself, perhaps there were events in this family’s past that made this behaviour understandable, if harsh to outsiders.

He watched while the captain walked down the line of children, adjusting a collar here, correcting a stance there. He watched while none of them smiled, or made eye contact, or even blinked.

They were soldiers at attention, he realised, and felt his stomach lurch.

Even he, who had refused the rank and duties of a General due to his age and had instead opted to continue as an Ambassador for the Republic, even he had seen enough troop inspections during the Clone Wars to recognise it on a domestic scale.

“Alright,” Kenobi said to the children, “Each of you will step forward in turn, speak your name, and step back into line.”

The first to step forward was the girl at the head of the line. Tall, fair-haired and pretty, she stepped forward and introduced herself as Liesl. The boy next in line was Friedrich. Another girl – Louisa. Another boy – Kurt. Three more girls – Brigitta, Marta, and the littlest one, who stepped forward, forgot herself entirely, and stepped back without a word.

The captain blinked at her for a second and then sighed. “Gretl,” he said, and looked disgruntled at having to do it himself.

Qui-Gon, for the first time since the children had arrived, hid the faintest twitch of a smile.

“The whistle,” Kenobi said unexpectedly, “Is only to be used by me, and will be a summons to all the children and to you. I expect you to find your own way of communicating. I will not tolerate shouting in the house or in the grounds.”

“I’m sure we can find…”

“Discuss it with the children,” Kenobi interrupted, and pocketed his whistle.    

“As your wish.”

“Mr… Quinn,” Kenobi said, “You will join us for the evening meal.”

Qui-Gon bowed his head in acquiescence, and silence reigned while Kenobi’s boots clipped sharply away.

None of the children moved until their father was out of sight.

And then Qui-Gon watched while he was inspected by seven pairs of curious eyes, at least three of them holding a certain amount of animosity.

Tension seemed to be part of the atmosphere in the house, he mused, and then steadied himself to the task at hand.

His own preference to stay or leave notwithstanding, he was bound by principle to ease what negative energy he could. And since he had been a negotiator for peace across the galaxy until very recently, he saw no reason not to bring some gentleness into this house for as long as he was in residence.

“My name is Jon Quinn,” he said, as calmly as he could, and carefully kept his shoulders down, his hands folded before him. He smiled to show warmth and hunched to seem non-threatening, and lowered his chin in order to show a vulnerability that wasn’t entirely a pretence.

The younglings in the Temple had been younger than three of these children, and as innocent as at least two. They’d hidden in the Council chambers for safety, and Anakin had…

Qui-Gon breathed out and smiled a little warmer.

“As for communication,” he said pleasantly, “I believe we can manage quite well with our names and a properly modulated tone of voice.”

Liesl’s mouth thinned, and her answering smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“That will do for the young ones,” she said, “I’m far too old for a tutor.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Qui-Gon replied, “How old are you, if I may ask?”

“Sixteen,” she said, “Almost seventeen.”

Her arrogance was chilling.

“Well, Miss Kenobi,” he returned, “Perhaps I can count on you to help me with the younger ones, then.”

“Well, I’m fourteen. I can look after myself too,” Friedrich muttered.

Qui-Gon nodded seriously. “You are old enough to be aware of your actions, certainly,” he replied ambiguously, “And to take responsibility for them.”

Friedrich puffed up importantly.

It wasn’t quite the effect Qui-Gon had intended but it was a rather understandable reaction, he considered.

The girl beside him giggled.

“I’m Brigitta,” she informed him, “And I’m thirteen. Am I also old enough to be responsible for myself?”

He walked to her, and stood up straighter so that he towered before her with all of his six feet and four inches of height before providing her with the answer that all living beings were responsible for their own actions, and that included their ability to learn from each other.

“And I believe your name is Louisa,” he added mildly.

The look on her face was priceless.

From the corner of his eye he saw Liesl and Friedrich exchange a startled glance but his attention was taken up by an excitable little youngling who darted two feet out of line, stared up at him and declared he was very smart to have remembered.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I’m Brigitta,” she told him, just in case he had forgotten.

“Yes, I thought so. How old are you, Brigitta?”

“9 and a half.”

He had thought that too. It ached to see the echo of the child he had held so much hope for in her face.

She wasn’t much like Anakin had been at her age, that was true. Her eyes were too sharp, her voice too self-aware, but her face still had the fullness of childhood, her words ever so slightly careful as though she was still learning them.  

“Your cloak is torn,” she observed.

“Brigitta,” Kurt admonished, “You can’t say things like that. Not out loud, anyway.”

“It’s true,” she protested, “You can see the hole.”

“Truth is important,” Qui-Gon interrupted firmly, “We can discuss it tomorrow. I’m pleased to meet you too, Kurt.”

“I’m eleven,” Kurt declared.

“A fine age.”

The children seemed to have decided to provide him with their names and ages in place of rank and serial number, he thought sourly, though it was proving to be an enlightening insight into their personalities.

He turned to the last two with a gentler stoop.

The two littlest girls looked up at him with eyes the same colour as their father’s, though they were too young to radiate any conscious hostility.

He could feel Liesl’s stare burning into his back.

“I’m Marta and I’m going to be seven on Tuesday,” he was told, “And I asked Father for a pink parasol.”

The Jedi had no real custom of celebrating Life anniversaries but at the thought of the snappish military Captain handling a child’s pink umbrella, he hoped mischievously that he’d have the chance to observe this one.

If only to affirm the affection between child and parent.

“Pink,” he told her gravely, “Is one of my favourite colours too.”

She stared at him in disbelief and he turned to the smallest and last of the long line of Kenobis – “And you must be Gretl.”

Gretl looked up at him, and then tugged at his cloak.

He obligingly went down on one knee and accepted the hug with good grace.

What surprised him was the sudden sense of her presence, expanding out to meet his own.

Even political negotiators had taught the occasional class of Initiate younglings, so sticky hands and mouths and spontaneous affection were nothing new to him, but to feel an unformed Force-sensitive presence without any warning was a shock to the system.

She clung tight for a few moments, as though the hug was for his benefit rather than hers, and he put up thicker mental shields lest she stretch herself too far towards a connection without realising what she was doing.

And if he did close his eyes and luxuriate in a sensation he hadn’t felt since the devastation of Coruscant, he felt no shame in it. 


	3. Strength in Numbers

“I look forward to working with you all,” he said, when he’d finally let Gretl go and stood up.

His joints felt stiffer than they had even a year ago; his knee ached from the hard, polished stone.

The others had broken position to cluster close together, closing ranks now that one of them had shown a propensity to reach out to him. Gretl was currently being marshalled back into the knot of children, her hand firmly held in Liesl’s.

“You don’t have to work, Mr Quinn,” Brigitta laughed, “You have to make us work.”

“Yes,” Louisa interrupted, “What books to read, what to learn…”

“What we write, and when we finish...”

“Where we walk and how far,” Kurt added.

The boys were behind him, Louisa flanking him to his right and Liesl shepherding Gretl to the left.

His expanded senses were still sensitive from the unexpected brush with Gretl, but the discomfort of being circled by a troupe of children brought them sharply back into focus on the present.

As an adept of the Living Force, his perceptiveness lay in his ability to find the meaning in the Moment – to be most present in the Here and Now. He’d found it suited his more volatile missions to have a heightened sensitivity to nuances and split second changes in atmosphere.

The Unifying Force was deep and mysterious, and he had great respect for those Jedi who had been attuned to its power, but in his heart he had often found their far-sighted, overarching regard a little too cold and objective. To him, it spoke of schemes and plans; of expectations, which were too open to manipulation and overthought.

The Living Force, in turn, could be impetuous; too prone to whims and fancies, too reliant on emotion and perspective, but he felt the small feet pace around him, the jostle of little bodies in their coordinated clothes masquerading as a uniform, and he carefully unknotted the tension in his back and released it into the ether.

There was no war here, he reminded himself. Even if there was some hostility, he would not be hurt. He would not have to defend his life here. At least, not from any truly important danger. A little frustration, perhaps, or irritation; maybe some embarrassment. No more than that, certainly.

And it was possible there would be some joy, he thought, and softened with a glance at Gretl. Which was why he chose not to react when he felt a young hand slip something into the pocket of his cloak.

It was done well enough, he supposed, and if he hadn’t been on high alert he might not have even noticed it.

A most impressive skill for a respectable captain’s daughter, he mused.

Friedrich distracted him by advancing on the pack he had set down by the wall.

“My things,” he said.

“You don’t have many,” Louisa said hesitantly.

“No, I don’t,” he agreed, and plucked the pack from out of Friedrich’s hands.

Truthfully, there was very little in the pack of worth beyond three nova crystals and a communicator.

“Even Father has more luggage than that,” Kurt remarked, “And he has a whole apartment in the Capital.”

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. “Does he travel much?”

Kurt shrugged with all the nonchalance of an eleven year old. “Only when he’s needed for Court duties.”

Liesl’s mouth twisted in distaste but Qui-Gon noticed that she was looking inwards to something only she could see.

The next moment her blue eyes flashed and she tilted her chin defiantly. “We need to get changed for evening meal. May we go, Mr Quinn?”

“Of course,” he said.

The children’s return to the upper story was markedly more sedate than their descent, though it looked more enthusiastic. They did keep glancing back, however, with a kind of hopeful enquiry, and it wasn’t until the last lingering door had shut and the housekeeper had bustled up that he remembered he was supposed to have been playing the shocked victim to their little trick.

The poor frog was sadly uncomfortable in his pocket, and its skin felt remarkably dry as he petted it on the palm of his hand.

The housekeeper clicked her tongue. “Now, would you look at that. Those children! The things they get up to. Well, I suppose you were lucky. With Mrs Helga, it was a snake.”

He smiled and put the frog back in his pocket. “They wouldn’t have picked a poisonous one, I’m sure.”

She eyed him for a moment as if she wasn’t sure how to take such an answer, and then she seemed to settle it within herself. She thawed and bestowed a conspiring glance between him and the door the Captain had disappeared through.

“You had better change for the evening meal, Mr Quinn. The Captain, he likes things just so. Very orderly man. That’s the military for you.”

“I have nothing else to change into,” Qui-Gon informed her.

She thawed a little more and turned round eyes on him. “No! Well, it’s a hard life devoting yourself to book learning, I see. Never mind, Mr Quinn. My sister-in-law down in the village sews better than a Capital seamstress. I’ll have her make you up some suitable things.”

“Thank you but I wouldn’t put her to the trouble.”

“No trouble. The Captain likes to look after his people, you see. He’ll insist if he hears.”

Qui-Gon stored the information away. “In that case, I would be grateful for your efforts.”

She began to turn left at the top of the staircase and then abruptly changed direction to the right.

“This way, if you please,” she said, and led him to a small room at the side of the house.

Qui-Gon noted the large windows with their drawn curtains, the open floor space and the bed that was certainly more than one person needed.

It wasn’t a room of luxury but the muted colours eased over him like balm.

“I will leave you now, Mr Quinn.”

He thanked her and waited until he heard the door shut.

The sun was just beginning to set, and the sky was streaked with orange and pink beyond the old-fashioned glass of the windowpanes. He stood beside it and watched while it faded, his thoughts far away. The dying light glimmered on a lake just beyond the house and he focused on the silvery flashes, the tiny ripples and fluid breaks, even as he thought of Dagobah and its swamps, of a Tatooine moisture farm and the Alderaan mountains.

He thought of Naboo and a funeral pyre.

He let the image form briefly of a world of volcanoes, of searing heat and collapsing platforms and the inescapable fact that yet another young man he had held in so much regard, so much love, would try to use a lightsabre to kill him.

But that way was a path to anger and hatred, and there was no hope for the future left in those images so he simply let it fade away.

His life had been saved by the will of the Force, and he had a responsibility to use the gift – poor as it was, old and worn as it was – for what little good he could still do in its service.

The light meditation was healing.

When the dark was finally fallen, he breathed in and out and roused his heart from its slow-paced rhythm.

And it turned out that he was late.

Only by a few minutes, but the look on the Captain’s face was almost comically thunderous.

“Mealtimes,” he was told with ominous control, “Are to be strictly adhered to.”

“I understand,” he said peaceably, and sat down at the chair left vacant. Surreptitiously picking up the pine cone hidden on his seat.

He placed it carefully beside his plate.

The Captain stared at it and then raised his eyebrows at him.

“An unusual ritual,” he remarked, “Do you always bring a pine cone to dinner?”

A small wave of unease rippled through the children.

“Only on special occasions,” Qui-Gon assured him.

Kenobi didn’t look as though he believed him but he let the subject drop as he signalled the meal to start.

They ate in silence.

Qui-Gon waited for the inevitable restlessness of children to assert itself, idly wondering if he would be expected to show his willingness to exact order even in the captain’s presence. He listened for the rustle of a kicked foot, or a stifled giggle.

But halfway through the meal he came to the realisation that this was not likely to happen.

The children sat in silence, eyes turned resolutely to their plates, and then Qui-Gon looked closer and noticed that Gretl wasn’t eating.

She was staring at her food, brow furrowed, and she was so small.

He was used to precocious Force-sensitive children, who developed quickly because they were encouraged to do so. The war had done much to hasten that development since they had needed to replenish the ranks of the Jedi as they lost Masters and Knights in the fight against the Separatists.

But this was not a world in which droid armies were a fact of life.

The strain of war was not a fact of life here and a child was free to be a child.

Yet the unease was almost thick enough to taste.

The older children picked at their food, and the Captain ate with mechanical precision, but there was no joy here. No companionship.

He looked around, and his heart broke. In a room full of people, everyone was isolated.

He swallowed.

“I would like to thank you all for the gift you left in my pocket today,” he said.

The children froze. Louisa raised her head and stared at him in a panic. Friedrich and Kurt looked at each other before darting fearful glances at their father.

The Captain looked up with a frown.

“What gift would this be?” Kenobi asked.

Brigitta’s fork screeched on her plate.

“It’s a secret between me and the children,” Qui-Gon said.

Kenobi’s mouth twitched at the corner. “Then I suggest you keep it,” he replied pointedly, “And let us eat.”

Qui-Gon looked at Liesl. She held his gaze, proud and defiant.

“Knowing how nervous I must have been, a stranger in a new household, knowing how important it was for me to feel accepted, it was kind and thoughtful of them to make my first moments here… pleasant.”

Kenobi looked like he believed this statement even less.

He glanced suspiciously around the table.

“Pleasant,” he repeated.

“Very pleasant,” Qui-Gon said, with a smile.

Marta started to cry.

Kenobi almost didn’t notice until she sniffled, loud enough to be heard in the stillness.

“What is the matter, Marta?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, and sniffled even louder.

And then Louisa started. And Gretl, more from confusion and sympathy than anything else.

Qui-Gon picked up his fork and serenely began to eat again.

Like a thundercloud, the tension burst.

Brigitta started to wipe angrily at her eyes too and Kurt was red-faced with shame. Friedrich was staring unhappily at his sisters and Liesl was pointedly looking at no one.

Kenobi looked at all his children before laying his fork down with exaggerated care.

He lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as he asked, “Mr Quinn, is it to be at every meal or merely at dinnertime that you intend to lead us through this rare and wonderful world of…” he seemed to be searching for the right word.

“… indigestion?” he finally settled on.

Qui-Gon picked up the pine cone and turned it gently over in his hands.

“If it’s a regular complaint, Captain, I would suggest you consult a physician,” he replied.

Kenobi glared at him.

His reply was lost, however, by the sudden interruption of the seneschal, who cleared his throat and whispered into Kenobi’s ear.

The captain’s frown cleared.

“I’ll take it in the study,” he said, and stood up immediately.

“Father,” Liesl said quickly, “May I also be excused?”

“What?” He blinked at her. “Oh. Very well. If you’re done.”

Unexpectedly, she smiled prettily, a tiny dimple showing in her cheek. “Thank you, Father,” she said sweetly, and ran out the door.

“I sense Liesl is in a state of some excitement,” Qui-Gon remarked.

He spoke without thinking, more to himself than to anyone in particular, and received no reply from the children. Either those who were drying their eyes or those who were fidgeting restlessly in their seats. He’d never met children who looked as though they didn’t want to be at a meal, and certainly not children at an age where their bodies needed the extra nourishment.

He reached out carefully to Gretl as a matter of course, trying to sooth her depressed spirits with some small comfort and reassurance.

To his surprise, he found two other unfocused Force- sensitive touches, both weaker, both wavering and unsure, but desperately needy. He closed his eyes and concentrated, stretching his abilities to feel for all three at once while differentiating each source. Holding them all equal and worthy of care.

Friedrich startled in his seat and then bolted from the room.

Qui-Gon winced as one of the presences snapped away from contact.

The other registered shock and discomfort.

He respected Louisa’s wishes and withdrew from her.

Gretl, on the other hand, actively reached for him. Her cheeks were tear-streaked, her eyes still watery, and he gentled her agitation as best he could. He coupled it with a firm suggestion to eat.

The spoon was a little too big, and her face scrunched in confusion, but she complied.

He turned his thoughts back to Liesl and her unexpected change of mood. He had seen her happy for one brief moment, and while he could believe she was happy to leave the table, he doubted she would have looked quite so excited at the prospect of returning to her bedroom.

He didn’t have to consider the matter too closely.

She was an unmistakable form even in the stifled, stormy dark, standing in a folly in the grounds, her golden head close to a dark one.

The dark-haired boy wore a uniform of silver and blue, too new to have seen any use beyond ceremonial.

Qui-Gon had not intended to spy on either of them, and once he was certain that they were no strangers to each other and that this was not a situation that called for any immediate action on his part, he withdrew silently.

The passions of children were often their undoing, he thought tiredly, and returned to the house sunk in contemplation.

 


	4. Favourites

It was no difficulty to make certain assumptions in regards to Liesl’s need for secrecy, or on her options for returning to her bedroom unnoticed. His final decision was made when the storm broke only moments after his return to the house.

The frog he had been given so generously hopped up onto the sill when he unlatched the window and swung it open, and he petted it with a forefinger as it croaked into the humidity.

Its tiny spirit felt decidedly refreshed and he resolved to nudge it gently back into the garden in the morning.

“You deserve better than four walls and a cup of water, my friend,” he said quietly and smiled down as it croaked again, “Very well. If you must stay, you may stand watch.”

The frog turned itself to face the open window more thoroughly.

Qui-Gon let it be and returned to the bared floor space at the foot of the bed.

Floors, he was beginning to find, were growing harder as the years passed. The Force kept him much younger than his years. His movements were still fluid and his senses keen, but he was 74 years old. There was no escaping that fact.

He wondered humorously if he should start carving himself a cane of his own. Gimer bushes were impossible to come by on Ortho Secondus but there were flourishing hardwood trees in the extensive estate grounds and the captain was hardly likely to notice if he cut down a single branch.

He closed his eyes to the memory of how Anakin would have smiled to hear that. How he would have teased him for his age and the slowly growing ache in his bones.

His former Padawan had always been irreverent.

Perhaps that was where the fault lay, Qui-Gon mused.

Jedi masters were required to be remote and demanding. They were required to set boundaries and high expectations.

And he had tried, but even had he wanted to be stern, he hadn’t had the heart. Not when his Padawan was hurting from the loss of his mother, his home; was lost at the Temple without even a knowledge of the basics that Initiates were taught in the crèche.

Anakin’s shields had been non-existent, his ability to access the Force limited only to split second jumps in foresight during times of danger. Moments where his unconscious was engaged in self-preservation. He hadn’t known how to access the skill consciously.

Qui-Gon had tried to bridge the gap and normalise the discrepancy. He had reassured and soothed and somewhere in there, he had encouraged Anakin to grow closer than he should have. To take some comfort from the last familiar presence that linked him to his old life.

It had also held him back from fully engaging with the others in his age group. In the end, it had isolated him.

Their days and nights had been built around each other. Their schedules had been shared. Anakin hadn’t attended a class without reporting to Qui-Gon for extra tutoring. He hadn’t made friends without seeking Qui-Gon’s advice. Meditation, sparring, study, nutrition; all of these and more had been undertaken under Qui-Gon’s guidance.

And Qui-Gon had responded by doing what a Master shouldn’t – he had allowed their connection to grow to one of family.

Anakin had been allowed to question everything, to ask anything, to do things for pleasure without much in the way of consequence. He had been indulged.

And Qui-Gon knows he should have known better after Xanatos.

He should have known not to be blinded by affection. How many times had he refused to train another child because of this very weakness? How many years had he meditated on his mistakes with his former Padawan? Only to have his initial impression of Anakin's lack of confidence stand so clearly in his mind in stark contrast to Xanatos' arrogance that he had once again failed to watch for warning signs. Worse, he had excused them.  

Perhaps, Qui-Gon thought tiredly, the Captain’s way of discipline was a better one.

The scrape of a shoe on the trellis outside was barely audible above the sound of the rain.

He breathed out slowly.

It was followed by several more scraping noises, a thud, and the sounds of someone at the window.

“If you wash that dress by hand, no one would ever know you were out in the storm,” he said serenely.

He could plainly hear a sharp gasp.

He opened his eyes.

Liesl had one knee on the rough wooden ledge, one leg still outside and presumably on the trellis. She was soaked through, and her dress, while still very pretty, looked like nothing so much as a rag between the water and the dust from her climb.

For once she wasn’t staring at him with defiance as much as shock.

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

“I could ask the same question of you,” he replied, and rose to his feet.

He crossed his arms loosely, hands settling comfortably along his forearms as they so often had done within the sleeves of his Jedi robes.

“But the tutors always sleep in the room in the other wing,” she said, and pointed to the door, “They always do. Father always puts them…”

He cut her off impatiently - “I am not in any other room. I am in this one.”

She took his hand absently and hopped in, a little stream of water running from her hairline to her chin.

“It is a waste to spend your time questioning the reality of things,” he advised.

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you going to tell my father?” she demanded.

“I believe I should.”

She hesitated, and then her pride broke. She put out her hands impulsively, eyes big and beseeching. “Oh, please don’t tell on me. I was out taking a walk and somebody locked the doors earlier than usual. That’s all.”

Discipline and order, Kenobi had said, and control.

The lie was an obvious one, and he doubted that she would really expect him to believe it. Qui-Gon stretched his senses out to her but he felt nothing from her beyond her panic and her fear, and a residual excitement. The same excitement he had seen as she left the dinner table.

“Were you walking alone?”

She closed her mouth firmly and looked away but she blushed. Whether in anger or remembrance, he couldn’t say and it didn’t matter. It spoke to her secrecy, and to her knowledge that there was more in this than just a walk in the grounds.

He studied her face intently.

“You told me today that you didn’t need a governess,” he said, “I told you I would look to you for help with your brothers and sisters. Is this what you will teach them? To lie? To play tricks on people who have done nothing to earn your spite?”

She hunched into herself.

“Sixteen,” he continued, and kept his tone even, “Is an age when you know your own mind. It is not old enough to know everything.”

She said nothing in her own defence.

“But I won’t tell your father,” he decided.

She drooped in relief.

“I will keep your secret as long as I believe it is not a danger to you or your siblings.”

“I always take care of my brothers and sisters,” she said fiercely.

“I believe that,” he agreed, “Why else would you put a frog in my pocket?”

She looked ashamed.

“It’s quite a nice one, by the way. Where did you catch it?” he asked, and moved around her to collect the small amphibian that was still sitting on the window ledge.

As a lookout, the frog seemed a particularly tenacious one.

“By the lake. There are lots of them now. We didn’t mean any harm, Mr Quinn.”

“You did, but I’m not easily frightened by frogs. Now an acklay is a different story.”

He set his frog down in the cup of water he had used to refresh it earlier. It sat there for a few minutes, croaking meditatively.

“An acklay? I’ve never heard of such a creature,” Liesl frowned.

“I can tell you about them,” Qui-Gon said, “But tomorrow.” Lightening flashed outside the window. “You should return to your room, and remember what I said about washing the evidence off your dress.”

She suddenly dimpled a smile at him. “Wouldn’t that be a lie?” she asked archly.

He patently refused to smile. “Only by omission, and not if there isn't a direct question.”

Her dimple deepened, and she vanished out the door on quick feet.

He shook his head and hoped he wouldn’t come to regret his decision.

He turned down the covers on the bed now that he was free to sleep.

Control, he reminded himself, and order; the captain would expect adherence to the rules of the house. And very like adherence to the laws of a country or a planet, he was duty-bound to acknowledge those rules.

The crash of thunder was accompanied by his door swinging back open.

He looked around quickly, hand lifting to the drawer in the table beside his bed.

“Marta,” he noted, “And Gretl.”

He dropped his hand. They were in nightclothes almost too big for them, their hair loose and eyes enormous in the light.

He looked at the window and then at them. “Is it the storm?” he asked sympathetically.

They shook their heads hesitantly.

Another crash of thunder and they ran for the bed.

He found himself, within a very short span of seconds, standing beside his bed with two younglings hiding under his covers.

“A storm is nothing to be frightened of,” he said gently, and sat down to better reach the blankets they’d pulled over their heads.

Unfortunately yet another flash of lightening chose to streak across the sky just as he peeled the blankets away.

They burrowed deeper, and two more figures appeared in the doorway.

“You… weren’t in your room,” Brigitta said shakily.

“Yes,” Louisa gulped, “So we thought we’d come and find you. In case…”

He was never to find out what Louisa imagined the worst case scenario would be because lightening was followed by thunder, and both girls screamed.

He sighed.

“You may both come in while the storm is at its peak,” he accepted.

They came in gratefully, eyes glancing to the windows every so often.

His bed was fortuitously big enough to fit four sisters. He took a seat at the foot of the bed and waited.

It wasn’t long before a reasonably loud clatter signalled the arrival of two more people.

Friedrich’s Force-presence, while weaker than Gretl’s, was skittish and hyper-extended.

“We- we came to find the girls,” Kurt said feebly.

“I was only accompanying Kurt,” Friedrich insisted.

He got up from the bed and pointed to the huddle on his bed. Then considerately he sat in a chair and let the boys settle cross-legged on the mattress. A furious clamour of whispers immediately rose up, punctuated by exclamations of bravery and denials of fear in wavering children’s voices.

Liesl followed a few minutes later in a dry set of clothes and thus he had the complete set.

Control, he thought distantly, and order.

The Living Force was sometimes a difficult path to follow.

“Why are you in this room?” Brigitta asked, frowning at him from over Marta’s blond head.

“This is the room I was given,” he assured them.

“Fancy that. Father always puts the tutors in the room next to mine,” Kurt said, “So they can keep an eye on us.”

“Miss Josephine used to spy on us in the night,” Louisa said darkly.

They all looked their distaste at the memory.

Qui-Gon watched them closely. “And what did she find to spy on?”

Then they looked at each other in embarrassment and Gretl giggled. Only to go ashen and burrow into Liesl’s neck the minute the thunder and lightning rolled across the sky again.

“There really is nothing to be frightened of, little one,” Qui-Gon said softly, “It’s only sound and light. It cannot hurt you.”

“Lightning struck the old barn in Farmer Horace’s fields and set it on fire,” Kurt said with a shiver.

“That can happen, yes, but we’re not outside,” he smiled, “We’re safe in here.”

Unbidden he remembered Dooku and the feel of the Force turned to violence, of ravaging energy in the form of lightening.  

Nowhere was truly safe anymore.

These children had been sheltered so far but it was only a matter of time before the Empire arrived in this Galaxy.

For the three Force-sensitives amongst them, that would mean grave danger. There could only be two Sith lords – Master and Apprentice – and rumours were already spreading about the mass testing for midichlorian counts. The rumours were ominously silent on the subject of what happened to those who presented with high scores.

He leaned forward, hands lightly clasped between his knees as he carefully chose his words.

“Perhaps there is a lesson I can teach you tonight,” he decided.

There was an instant look of dismay on their faces and he smiled to see it. Here, finally, was a childish response he understood.

“I want you all to close your eyes,” he told them.

Marta’s eyes widened. “Are you going to do magic?” she asked.

He laughed. “No, but you might. So close your eyes.”

They did as he asked.

“Now I want you to think about something that makes you feel safe and happy,” he said softly, “Maybe your favourite room or a toy.”

Gretl, her face screwed up in concentration, opened one eye.

“Maybe your blanket,” he suggested, nodding at her, “Warm and soft. Nothing can hurt you when you’re under your blanket.”

“Yes it can,” Brigitta muttered, “Kurt kicked me under the blanket.”

He took the subsequent scuffle in his stride.

“Maybe your brothers and sisters make you feel safe,” he suggested.

Brigitta and Kurt subsided and Marta cuddled further into Brigitta’s shoulder.

Outside the lightening lit up the lawns, blazing across the sky. The rain lashed against the house and he could feel the chill of a draught against the back of his neck.

He had no doubt that the mountains would be a dangerous place in this weather. Treacherous and confounding in the dark and the wet.

“The storm cannot hurt you in here,” he continued, “You don’t have to be scared of it.”

Friedrich’s eyes popped open as he frowned.

“I’m not scared,” he said defiantly.

Qui-Gon showed how little he believed such an assertion. “All living things feel fear. The strongest as well as the weakest.”

“Father fought in a war and he wasn’t scared,” Kurt boasted.

Qui-Gon highly doubted that. As a Jedi trained to control his emotions, he could recall countless times when he had been intimately acquainted with fear on a battlefield. Even as hard-souled a man as Captain Kenobi would have much the same story.

“Fear is a natural response when we face something that can harm us. In many ways, it’s one of the most important emotions we can have.”

The children were all watching him sceptically.

“Fear warns us when there is danger. We run faster, we begin to think more quickly.”

Louisa chewed her lip, grey eyes thoughtful. “So fear can keep us safe?” she clarified.

“Sometimes yes,” Qui-Gon conceded, “If we learn to listen to our instincts. And if we learn to control how we respond to our fear, it can become a strength.”

“But Miss Josephine told me that only babies feel fear, because they’re weak and helpless.”

Qui-Gon lifted a hand to stroke his beard. “I wouldn’t say that. Babies may be weak and helpless but all living things will be, at times. There is always a bigger fish.”

Just then the thunder gave a particularly loud roar and the wind blew open the windows with a crash.

The children jumped and the little ones whimpered.

“Back to the lesson,” he ordered immediately, “Close your eyes and think of something safe. Maybe somewhere you felt happiness, or an action that makes you feel at peace.”

They all obediently shut their eyes except for Liesl, who got out of the bed to fasten the windows again.

He stretched his senses out, carefully monitoring each of them in turn.

The lightening came and their spirits waivered but he radiated calm into the Force and guided them back to a feeling of security.

“Good,” he praised softly, “Keep your eyes closed and we’ll try one more thing. I want you all to put up walls.”

Gretl peeked at him from under her lashes, a frown pulling down the corners of her mouth.

“Wherever you are in your mind, whatever you’re doing,” he continued, “Imagine yourself in a room. Any kind of room you like…”

“With pink walls?” Marta asked excitedly.

“If you like…”

“And lots of books,” Brigitta exclaimed.

“And a cat,” Louisa decided.

“No, a dog,” Kurt objected.

“Why not both?” Liesl dimpled, standing with her back to the curtains.

“Any room you like,” Qui-Gon said firmly.

A muffled snort told him his efforts had, at least, lightened the mood.

“Nothing can get out of this room and nothing can get in.”

“We can’t get out?” Gretl asked, and her frown turned to wide-eyed panic.

“Only if you want to,” he said, “But no one can force you. Everything you feel and think can stay in that room for as long as you like.”

He leaned towards her especially, willing her to comprehend this most basic lesson in Force shielding. Friedrich too he hoped would understand, and Louisa, but they were older, and their Force-sensitivity was growing weaker from the lack of training.

Gretl, however, was at the age when her developing awareness of the world around her was only matched by her abilities in the Force.

Had she been born on any other world, in a hundred other star systems, she would have been tested at birth and found. She would have been offered a place at the Temple. And, he was well aware, she would probably have been murdered by Anakin.

Her safety was still not guaranteed.

She shone like a beacon in the room, projecting her emotions for anyone to hear who knew how to listen. She had no defences, no place to hide.

She had no control.

And it wouldn’t be long before the Empire reached this planet.

He reached his senses out to her, gently pressing against the precariously thin veil she had constructed, and he showed her how to strengthen it. He showed her by feel because that was the best way, and then stretched himself to repeat the process for her brother and sister.

Friedrich stiffened and Louisa flinched.

He withdrew from them when it was clear that they were not ready to connect in this way.

“My room has a big bed and my favourite toy and pink walls…”

“Mine is a library,” Brigitta interrupted.

“Mine is the kitchen,” Kurt declared, “Then I can stay in there for ages and I won’t get hungry.”

Liesl stiffened and turned to watch the door.

Qui-Gon heard it too – the sound of footsteps and the creak of a floorboard.

He rose swiftly, one hand reaching again for the drawer in the table beside him, a glance at the bed calculating the possibility of overturning it for cover. It was the only thing in the room large enough to shield eight bodies.

The captain, luckily, was not likely to fire blasters in his own home.

Qui-Gon lowered his hand again and relaxed.

Neither would Kenobi raise weapons against his children.

He reached out curiously, wondering to what level Gretl’s last surviving parent had influenced her midichlorian count. It was more likely to have been her dead mother, from the little he remembered of his childhood lessons in hereditary genetics, but to his surprise, he encountered not only a powerful ability in the Force but the sudden slam of practised, formidable shielding. It came down before he had the chance to sense anything beyond outrage.

The expression on Kenobi’s face, however, was one of blank control.

The man took his time responding to the immediate silence that greeted his arrival. When he did speak, he addressed the tutor.

“Mr Quinn, I remember saying to you that bedtime was to be strictly observed in this household.”

“You did.”

“Yes, I thought so too,” Kenobi agreed smoothly, “So I can only assume you have trouble following simple instructions.”

He looked around the room and then frowned.

“Is that a frog in a cup?” he asked.

“The children were afraid of the thunderstorm,” Qui-Gon said, neatly diverting the captain’s attention back to him.

“I wasn’t,” Friedrich began hotly, and subsided when his father favoured him with a measured, icy stare.

“I suggest you all return to your rooms,” Kenobi said quietly, “And I will consider a suitable punishment for this disobedience.”

The children left in a hurry, their fears swallowed back beneath their father’s ominous calm.

The storm was ending in any case, and Qui-Gon softened as he nodded reassurance to their murmured leave-takings.

Kenobi folded his arms and waited until they were gone before turning back to him.

“I had planned to leave for the Capital in the morning,” he said, “But I’m beginning to think my return to Court is premature.”

“I can’t answer that, Captain. I can say that the children will be looked after according to your instructions in your absence.”

“I’m sure you’ll understand if I feel some scepticism on that score.”

“I needed to establish a rapport with the children. As a soldier, I’m sure you’re familiar with the tactic.”

Qui-Gon allowed himself to straighten, to hold himself with the command he'd once shown in state rooms and warzones.

The captain’s lips thinned as his eyes narrowed.

“Very well,” he said abruptly, “I will expect to see the results of this rapport when I get back.”

“I hope your trip is a productive one.”

“As do I.”

And then Kenobi hesitated at the door, his fingers flexing on the handle.

“And in future, you will stay out of my mind, Mr Quinn,” he said, “No matter your ability in the Force.”

Then he left, closing the door with a quiet click.

 

 


	5. Needle Pulling Thread

“Did Father leave a message about our punishment?” Friedrich asked.

The faces confronting him at the breakfast table were sleepy and tense. Kurt was unusually silent and Louisa was radiating a low level of constant anger into the Force. Gretl was clearly affected by it but Qui-Gon had solved that problem by reaching out to her senses and carefully, wordlessly, encouraging her to rebuild the tenuous ‘walls’ he had shown her the night before.

She was currently drinking from a cup of juice, looking inwards with fascinated concentration.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon said, “You will all be getting an extra hour’s study and your evening leisure will be curtailed for three days.”

The children groaned.

“Your father has left detailed instructions,” Qui-Gon told them firmly, “I intend to follow them through to the letter.”

They looked mutinously down at their plates, breakfast forgotten.

“It’s not fair,” Brigitta complained.

He shook his head. “Every action has a consequence, young one. We might not like them, but the true test of our courage lies in accepting whatever may come.”

He stood up.

“And now I suggest you return to your rooms and change,” he told them, “Dress for the outdoors. Liesl, would you help the younger ones?”

All of them looked up sharply.

“We have our studies in the morning,” Liesl reminded him.

“Yes, I am aware, but the instructions do not say that you have to undertake them indoors,” Qui-Gon pointed out.

He gestured serenely at the shocked children to hurry up, and smiled to see their movements speed up. Excitement began to swirl through the air, and the scrape of chairs and thud of feet running upstairs was accompanied by a definite change in mood.

When the children returned, they didn’t appear to have changed into clothing any more suitable to the grounds than what they’d been wearing before. The cloth was too fine, the cut too delicate. He eyed Brigitta’s shoes critically but accepted it for the moment.

For himself, he took his frog with him, and spent the first half hour with the children down at the lake, datapads abandoned on the delicately wrought table on the terrace while they discussed the life cycle of amphibians.

As much knowledge as he had to give, he asked first for their own, and listened patiently while they described the sound of night time croaking and where to find spawn and tadpoles.

The lesson turned into a discussion of frog species, their colours and sizes and habitats, and the boys were particularly excited to hear his remarks on poisons and toxins. When that fascinating subject was exhausted, they turned to other life around the lake, and to other natural water bodies, and finally to the science behind the ripple effect on water.

They ended that lesson with two contests – to see who could create the biggest ripple by dropping a stone into the water, and who could create the smallest by dipping the tip of a finger in.

“Be patient,” he advised as Kurt stuck his tongue out and lowered his hand to the water’s surface. “If you move too fast, you cannot control your impact on the water.”

And true enough, Kurt’s ripple spiralled into ever-expanding circles far larger than he had intended.

Louisa held back and just watched the water before her try.

He wondered why until he felt her senses expand clumsily to her surroundings.

He was beginning to suspect that she was far more conscious a Force-user than her sister or brother.

Gretl used it unknowingly, with a toddler’s innocence, and Friedrich didn’t seem to use it at all unless he was encouraged to.

He reached back carefully, and though she flinched again, this time she let him close, and he radiated calm as he guided her to take her time, to shut out other distractions and focus purely on the task at hand.

In reward her touch was the lightest, and her flushed face as she looked up at him and smiled, broadcasting triumph and wonder and joy, made Gretl suddenly bounce on her toes and hug her.

They did return to their texts eventually, and he was pleasantly surprised to find that the hard discipline the captain subscribed to was not reflected in dry and unattainable goals. The data was good, the knowledge sound, and the mix of subjects was engaging enough.

When it was time for the mid-day meal, he insisted they return to the house, and insisted still further that they finish their meal, rest, and then return to the grounds for their exercises.

“What do you normally do?” he asked.

“Hand and eye coordination exercises with a ball,” Liesl told him, “Walk, run, stretch.”

“I see,” he replied, “A good combination of fun and fitness.”

“It isn’t supposed to be fun,” Brigitta said glumly, “But Mrs Helga persuaded Father it would be ‘greatly beneficial’.”

“What’s bene… benef… benen…”

“Beneficial, Marta,” Qui-Gon said easily, “It means good for you.”

“Oh,” she said.

“I’m sure it’s more fun than you remember, Brigitta,” he added, “Liesl, you will, for the moment, be known as One.”

“What?”

“Friedrich, Two. Louisa, Three. Kurt, Four. Brigitta, Five. Marta, Six. And you, Gretl, you are number Seven.”

“Why am I always last?” Gretl asked grumpily.

“You aren’t,” Qui-Gon promised her, “I’m going to be Eight.”

They stared at him. “You’re throwing the ball with us?” Friedrich asked carefully.

He tested the ball’s grip and weight in his hand. “Naturally. What’s beneficial for you is beneficial for me.”

The game started slowly enough, with each tossing the ball from one to the other before Qui-Gon suddenly broke the rhythm.

“Two,” he snapped, and tossed to Friedrich.

Who caught it clumsily, more from reflex than awareness.

“Good,” he praised, “Now let’s see if we all remember our numbers.”

“One,” Friedrich said, and tossed to Liesl.

She caught it and threw it to Louisa, who caught it and threw it back to Qui-Gon, who caught it and tossed it – very gently – to Marta.

Who didn’t remember her number and didn’t react in time to catch it.

Her face pinched and her eyes began to tear.

“It’s only a ball,” he told her soothingly, “Try again. Remember, you must listen for your number and concentrate. Keep your eye on the ball.”

She did try, and he was glad to see the others slow their hands just for her, or pause to call Gretl by name as well as number before they included her too. Amongst themselves, the oldest five moved more quickly and challengingly, feinting and wrong-footing as they went.

When the game threatened to grow too rowdy, he bowed out gracefully and took the ball away before they hurt either themselves or each other with it. Freed from their routine, it degenerated into a spirited game of catch, and the breathless excitement turned into yells and shrieks of laughter as they dodged around each other.

He sat down in the shade of a tree and watched, clearing his thoughts and emotions to the level of a lightly meditative trance.

It was no great hardship. The grass was crisp beneath the heat of the sun, and open spaces allowed for the unpredictable wind to ruffle his hair and tug playfully at the leaves. The quiet sounds of green, growing things and life anchored him to the present.

These children were not the same as the many others he had seen grow in the Temple. Nor would the murdered Initiates have played like this if Anakin had stood firm against the Dark Side and saved them as he was supposed to.

But for how long, he wondered, could one man have been expected to hold out against the Dark? How many times had his former Padawan been buffeted by loss after loss, test after test?

There was no excuse for what Darth Vader had done but in quieter moments Qui-Gon wondered sometimes if the explanations did not make him a figure of pity rather than hatred.

“Mr Quinn,” he heard, and he opened his eyes.

Kurt was standing over him, head tilted to the side in a puzzled frown.

“What are you doing?” Kurt asked.

The others were gathering, sweaty and red-faced.

“Meditating,” Qui-Gon said.

Liesl pushed her untidy hair back behind her ears and brushed self-consciously at the grass stains on the light fabric of her skirt. “Father sometimes meditates too but he says he needs quiet.”

“Generally, yes,” Qui-Gon agreed, “Meditation can be undertaken in many ways. Deep meditation for any length of time requires stillness and quiet. Lighter trances can be accomplished in different settings so long as the practitioner is relaxed and familiar with the method.”

“What does that mean?” Brigitta asked, wrinkling her nose.

“It means if you know what you’re doing, you can do it anywhere,” Kurt explained, nudging her lightly with his elbow.

“Sometimes,” Qui-Gon clarified, “And not quite anywhere. I would not recommend meditation in a marketplace.”

The children giggled.

“If any of you would like to try, I can show you how to be begin. Perhaps, Friedrich, you would find this helpful,” Qui-Gon said lightly.

Pointedly.

If Friedrich felt singled out he didn’t show it. Instead he sat down, adjusting his seat on the grass to match his tutor’s. Kurt and Brigitta followed his example, curious children that they were. Liesl took the other girls on a walk around the grounds.

Qui-Gon went through the first steps of the process, learning from minute reactions and flickers in the Force what helped them and what didn’t. Watching them slowly approach the threshold of their inner consciousness – no matter how incrementally – was almost like discovering it for himself all over again.

He had been told when he accepted Feemor as his first Padawan that in many ways, he would learn as much as his apprentice.

He had, but not in these matters.

He had learned from Feemor to be responsible; to be clear in his own actions and motives so that he could properly guide someone else’s. He had learned that his work would never be predictable and would always be dangerous. Moreover, he had learned to let go of his doubts and simply trust in his abilities and the will of the Force.

That trust had been partially lost beneath his guilt and misery after Xanatos’ Fall.

More than Feemor, Xanatos had been his true Padawan, coming to him as a child rather than a young man only a short span from his knighthood.

They had learned much from each other.

Then he had failed Xanatos and that had been a bitter lesson too. It hadn’t been as dangerous as his struggle with Tahl’s death, perhaps, but it had been equally self-destructive.

It had taken a remarkable child to break him from his long stretch of solitude, and he had realised to his surprise that even as old as he had grown – as much experience as he had gained – Anakin Skywalker could teach him things he had never considered before.

After all, Feemor and Xanatos had never needed him to teach them the basics of their Force-use. Anakin had, and Qui-Gon saw the shadow of those early days in the faces of these three children of varying Force ability.

He watched them try too hard and expect too much, squeezing their eyes shut until it was obvious that none of them were going to achieve much beyond a slight headache.

But he let them try, and he watched over them as they failed.

“We can try again tomorrow,” was all he gave them, and rose to take them indoors as the sun began to set.

It was a source of some pride that he could truthfully say – should the Captain ever ask – that the children had been given extra lessons and had lost their evening’s leisure. That they were hardly chastised by his methods of administrating both was something he found particularly satisfying.

By last meal they were all sunburnt and tired, silence falling over the group as they assembled with covert glances at the empty chair at the head of the table.

They also ate better than they had the night before. Kurt and Louisa were almost ravenous.

By the time the meal was done, most of the plates were empty, most of the children looked replete and sleepy, and Qui-Gon was sensible of a lingering trace of relaxed lethargy in the room.

“What do you all do after your evening meals?” he asked curiously.

The answers were expected in some part – Brigitta and Kurt read voraciously, Friedrich and Louisa watched holovids in their rooms. Gretl and Marta played with their toys and each other.

“And you?” he asked, looking at Liesl.

She poured herself more water. “I send messages,” she said, and didn’t look up.

“You must have many friends,” he said diplomatically.

He noted the sadness that crossed her face, and the way her fingers tightened on her glass. “I did,” she said, “Before we came to this planet.”

He frowned slightly.

“Is this world not your home?” he asked.

The younger children all looked down at the tablecloth.

Liesl looked around and then sighed. She put down her glass and turned to him. “We came to Ortho Secondus when our mother died, Mr. Quinn. None of us were born here.”

He stilled.

“I see. Where are you from?” he asked.

Friedrich’s blue eyes were hard and over-bright. “Mandalore,” he said defiantly, “We…”

“Friedrich!” Liesl cut in sharply.

The boy’s mouth snapped shut.

Liesl glared at her brother and then turned back to their tutor. “I’m sorry, Mr Quinn. Our mother died during the invasion of Sundari, and Father brought us here so we could be safe. He doesn’t like it mentioned and…” her eyes cut to Marta and then back to him, “… the youngest ones don’t remember much of our time there.”

He nodded sympathetically. Tiredly. “I heard of the invasion of Mandalore. It would have been a difficult time for everyone in Sundari.”

“It was,” Louisa said, voice rough.

He winced, wondering how Louisa and Friedrich had coped with the onslaught of violence and pain that had no doubt been released into the Force while the battle raged. Even now both children looked to each other, troubled faces showing fear and anger.

“But there were happy times as well,” Liesl said forcefully, “And there are still people there that we can call friends.”

“One of them sent Mother’s double viol to Liesl last year,” Marta said.

 Qui-Gon raised his brows at Liesl. “Do you play?” he asked.

“A little,” she said, “But not as well my mother used to.”

“It’s a difficult instrument to play,” he said, “Even a little is quite an accomplishment.”

The dimple in her cheek peeped out.

“We sometimes sing,” she said shyly, “All of us. When- when father isn’t here.”

“Does he forbid singing?”

“No. It’s…”

“It makes him sad,” Friedrich explained gruffly, “So we don’t do it. And we don’t talk about the past or our mother.”

“I see.”

The mood was subdued as the meal ended. There was no comfort he could give in the circumstances. He had never known their lives on Mandalore so he could offer little except for compassion and privacy.

Gretl gave him another hug, this time for herself, and Marta waited patiently in line until they were done to offer one too.

Liesl waited until they finished before she took her sisters by the hands and led them upstairs.

“Goodnight, Mr Quinn,” she said.

“Goodnight,” he gave her.

He returned to his room, but chose musing over meditation.

His missions had never included domesticity. The running of a household was not his field of expertise. Children had always existed on the periphery of his life but most of his interaction with them had been limited to individuals, carefully chosen and lavished with the full spectrum of his attention.

He had given his all to his Padawans, and of the three he had had, none of them had ended their lives in peace.

Feemor, perhaps, but even Feemor had died in an ill-conceived battle triggered by Qui-Gon’s prideful march into Geonosis.

He remembered cutting his way into the underground chambers. He remembered confronting his former master, demanding answers and levying judgement.

His capture had been laughably easy, his submission a blow to his ego.

And still he had refused to see his hubris. He had stood with his back to the stake in the arena, so secure in his righteousness that he had exchanged witticisms with Anakin when his Padawan and Padme were brought in to join him.

He had never intended to start a war.

He remembered the reports of the invasion of Mandalore.

The Jedi Council had stood by when Death Watch seized the city. They had stood by when the Duchess was thrown into prison.

Her family had sent communications to the Jedi pleading for assistance but the Council had voted against it, stretched too thin by the Clone Wars and rendered ineffective by the politics of the Republic Senate.

He didn’t know the details. He hadn't been privy to the Council's decisions even then.

They'd grown suspicious of his unpredictability by then. Anakin had been loyally upset on his behalf.

In the end the Duchess had been killed, and it was only because her murderer wielded a Sith sabre that the Order had ever discovered that Darth Maul still lived.

Qui-Gon raised a hand to his right shoulder, aware without touching his bare skin of the ugly scar of a lightsabre thrust.

He had thought he’d killed the monster all those years ago on Naboo, desperate in the Theed Generator Room and exhausted by the taxing upkeep of his Ataru fighting style against someone who had simply shrugged off his efforts.

In desperation and pain he had slashed at Maul’s legs, lightsabre pulled to his weaker left hand before the killing stroke was delivered.

He hadn’t expected it to work.

In the end it hadn’t. Maul had survived even that, and in his greed for revenge and power, he had destroyed Mandalore.

Qui-Gon dropped his hand and bowed his head.

Pride was his weakness, Yoda had told him, but not pride in his achievements. He carried his pride in his failures.

“Imagine yourself so important, do you, that the suns rise and fall for you?” Yoda had asked.

Qui-Gon turned his gaze to the mountains.

The sun did not rise or set for him, just as the mountains didn’t care if he lived or died. The galaxy would continue without him, as it did without so many that he cared for.

The Force still sang in the green, growing things – in the forests of Alderaan and on the plains of Naboo – and it did this even now that it’s Chosen One served at the right hand of a tyrant, raining death and destruction down on millions.

Anakin had made his choice. Xanatos had made his. Feemor, like Tahl and all the others, had always accepted that the life he lived was a dangerous one. Their struggles, like their triumphs, were their own, and he would not cheapen their autonomy by exaggerating his influence.

Just as Dooku had chosen his side and Qui-Gon had chosen his.

The knocking on his door broke him from his troubled thoughts to call a distracted acknowledgement.

He expected to see one of the children but it was Frau Schmidt, who arrived with a tape measure and a parcel wrapped in brown paper.

“Mr Quinn,” she tutted, “Oh, I do know those drapes are horribly worn. I will organise new ones as soon as I can.”

“These are fine,” he said.

“No, the Captain left strict instructions,” she promised, and added acidly, “As though his instructions are ever anything else. Well, never mind! I told my sister-in-law all about you and she sent these shirts. I believe they’re in your size but I do need your measurements for the suits.”

“This is hardly necessary, Frau Schmidt.”

“Please,” she exclaimed, “I insist.” Her eyes twinkled. “And as I said, the captain has…”

“Left strict instructions,” Qui-Gon completed, nodding humorously to her, “Very well. What would you like me to do?”

Marta and Gretl did eventually come to peer curiously through his open doorway, and they were quite happy to hold one end of the tape measure in their small fingers while Frau Schmidt hummed her way through the process.

“Now get up off that floor, children,” she said when they were done, “Or you’ll dirty those lovely clothes of yours again. If it isn’t grass, it’s dust. You know how your father dislikes that.”

The girls instantly dusted themselves down.

Qui-Gon, his spirits lifting at the easy chatter, glanced shrewdly down at the girls and then at Frau Schmidt.

“May I ask,” he cut in, “Do the children have play clothes?”

“Play clothes?” she echoed.

“Yes. Clothes to play in. Clothes they can run in, or climb trees.”

“Well, I… they’ve never had play clothes. Why, the Captain doesn’t condone that sort of behaviour. He’s a very disciplined man.”

“I’m sure he is.”

Qui-Gon leaned down to speak to the girls. “Thank you for your help, Marta and Gretl, but you should hasten to bed, now. It’s almost time to sleep.”

They left with smiles and waves.

Frau Schmidt waved back, smiling and cooing, and then turned on him with a militant eye.

“Just what do you have in mind, Mr Quinn?” she asked.

“Children cannot do the things they should do if they’re afraid of ruining their precious clothes,” he said, “I wondered if we could make some arrangements on that matter.”

“And how would I explain the need for the cloth on my accounts?”

He reached out for the drapes. “You did say you were getting new ones, Frau Schmidt,” he said serenely.

She raised a hand to hide her smile. “I did, Mr Quinn. I’ll see what I can do.”

 


	6. That will bring us back

_He dreamed he was walking in a labyrinth of underground caves, silent and stealthy as he picked his way across the flowing lava on rocks made treacherous by slippery pools of acid._

_No one was with him. He wasn’t carrying anything and he wasn’t sure of his destination. The uncertainty of his purpose came to him in one moment and drifted away the next._

_He couldn’t quite remember why he needed to move swiftly but he knew that he did. The urgency drove him on._

_He didn’t question it._

_Instead he watched the ground rise up to meet him when the inevitable happened._

_He lost his footing and slipped, and put his hands down into the acid to stop his fall._

_The agony threw him from the dream but even as he woke, he looked up to see a broken circle carved into the rock and heard the high pitched screaming of a man on fire._

\----------------------------------------------------------

Qui-Gon woke instantly, the nightmare dissipating as quickly as all the others.

He sat up and took stock of his condition and his surroundings.

The room was still dark, his heartbeat was elevated and his skin was clammy. He lifted his hands and there was nothing wrong with them.

He hadn’t thought there would be. He’d never been injured as badly as his imagination had conjured.

He stared down, tracing the outlines of his fingers in the dark.

The skin on both hands were littered with the scars of minor scrapes and burns ordinary to a man who had wielded a lightsabre since he was seven. Who had hitched lifts, diffused bombs, tracked through wilderness. Who had carried his own burdens and often shouldered burdens for those whose strength had begun to fail. 

When he judged his vision was sufficiently adjusted, he got out of bed.

In spite of his seventy four years, his movements were quiet and fluid. The door opened without a sound. No one else in the house seemed to be awake as he padded out into the gallery and down the staircase.

He took the clothes on his back and his lightsabre; nothing else was necessary. And he made his way outside through the front door without rousing a single member of the household.

It would be easy, he thought dispassionately, to vanish into the night.

It would protect these people who were unwittingly risking their lives to shelter him and his concerns needed to be larger than one family, or three Force-sensitive children.

On Tatooine and Alderaan, two children were being raised who could not be brought to the Emperor’s attention. In the crumbling ruins of a democracy, Senators loyal to the Old Republic were being executed.

And here he was, running away from his failure.

He watched the moonlit grass from the shadows of the treeline for too long before finally daring to move. When he did, he turned away from the boundary wall and made his way to the other side of the house.

The grass beneath him was lush and springy. The sky was brilliant with stars.

He found the folly where Liesl had met her mysterious friend and slipped inside, the hilt of his lightsabre a reassuring weight in his hand.

His room was comfortable and big enough for meditation but it was not big enough for katas. The folly was. More importantly, the folly had walls and a ceiling and shadows, and it stopped the moon shining down on him like a spotlight.

But even here he hesitated.

In the end, he didn’t power up his lightsabre. The weight in his hand was enough, though the balance was wrong without the blade.

The space was enough, the weight was enough, and he pushed aside his dream to begin the first four basic forms on slow rotation. There would be time to sift through the images later; the emotions had already left him.

He breathed in as he felt the muscles in his arms begin to warm.

Dreams – even nightmares – were not things that troubled him regularly, but three times in his life he had seen visions in his sleep that had come horrifyingly true. All three times, he had been powerless to stop them.

The first time he had been sixteen, and he had dreamed of his Master dying at the order of a sinister hooded figure.

Dooku had been unimpressed with his attempts to turn bodyguard and Qui-Gon had been read a lecture on the uncertainty of dreams and visions.

“The future is not certain,” Dooku had recited sternly, but he had laid a gentle hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulder when the mission was done.

“We can only act in the moment, Padawan,” he had said, “For all our plans and visions of the future. Keep your mind on the Here and Now, and trust in the Force.”

Qui-Gon breathed out and felt the long ropes of muscle in his back stretch.

The second time had been a premonition of Tahl’s death.

Over twenty years had passed since the event and his mind still shied away from it.

He turned, carefully monitoring the flex of his hips and pull of his flanks, bracing his right knee to bear the pressure of his shifting weight.

The third time had been on Tatooine, torn between the injustice of enslaved beings and the Queen under his protection, he had dreamed of the destruction that would come if Anakin was driven to the Dark Side by anger and hatred.

He finished the first rotation and breathed out.

He held position for three heartbeats and began again at a faster pace.

By the time the sun rose, the restless energy in him was worn out. He met the rising sun seated beside the lake, watching the light touch the mountains in the distance.

Somewhere on the grounds, a delivery was being made. He could hear the hum of the hover-cart.

He got up and slipped his lightsabre into his pocket. Then he returned to the house.

He could hear a child’s voice as he climbed the stairs – high and light and excited about something.

Brigitta, he guessed, and wondered what the excitement was for.

The gallery was still deserted, the curtains still drawn. The hour was early enough that the servants hadn’t yet begun to come through the upstairs levels, which he counted as an advantage. Unnecessary questions about wandering outdoors in the night in his sleepwear would not be easy to answer.

He opened the drawer in the table beside his bed to hide his lightsabre once again and paused, startled.

There was a message on his comm unit.

Qui-Gon turned immediately and shut and locked the door.

Hiding an object was one thing but playing a holovid recording was another. He glanced sharply at the window, considering the advisability of waiting until dark against the prospect of urgency.

In the end his own impatience won. There were more important considerations than a single family, more at stake than seven children, and there were only three people who had this frequency. Only two had the means to contact it.

He played the message.

Ahsoka looked older than she had even a year ago, and there was something ragged in the prominence of her bones beneath her skin, the rough drapes of cloth clustered at her neck and shoulders.

“The Empire’s Forces have come to Tatooine,” her projection said, “Lars has made it clear that I’m to stay away and maybe he’s right. If they figure out who I am, any known associates risk exposure. I’m going into seclusion. I just have to hope that it’s enough.”

She drooped suddenly, and for just a moment she was Anakin’s Padawan again.

“Master Qui-Gon, I hope you’re still alive to hear this,” she said softly, “May the Force be with you.”

Qui-Gon watched the flickering holograph of her face of a moment longer before he reached out to turn it off. He deleted the message, wiped the device and reset it, and put it back into the drawer alongside his lightsabre.  

The sun was higher in the sky, tracking warmth through the windows of the house and turning the mountaintops green and silver. No doubt first meal had commenced downstairs, and his mundane, easy duties awaited him.

Qui-Gon shut the drawer and left the room.

He could not allow his concern for her to prompt him to a rash and unconsidered action. His instinct was to respond the way he once had responded to three visions in his sleep – by trying to prevent a future that was still in flux.

He had failed all three times.

“Trust in the Force,” Dooku had said, and Dooku had died at Palpatine’s feet, a tyrant and a traitor to the Order he had once served so faithfully.

Seventy-four years could be good for this at least, that Qui-Gon had learned patience.

It was a useful skill on the third day when the children rebelled.

He was expecting it when it happened.

Discipline was easily grounded in strict schedules and rules, and it was just as easily overturned by destroying the same schedules and rules.

“Nothing in life is certain except change,” he told them sagely, and he watched them absorb the information.

That was the day he decided that they would spend the morning indoors, sitting in the study room that had been abandoned in favour of practical lessons in the extensive grounds. He hardened his heart to the pleading and frustration, and turned a blind eye to the slow dragging of reluctant feet as the children trooped upstairs.

There were many reasons he made this choice.

One was simply that the sky outside was overcast and threatened rain. The other was that it was time for them to focus on theoretical lessons for a while, which did not need to be conducted outdoors.

The most important reason was far more difficult to define.

When one of the children eventually rebelled – as he expected that someone would – it was Kurt who threw a stylus halfway across the table and demanded to know what possible use geographical definitions would be to him in the future.

“Do you think your life so small,” Qui-Gon asked calmly, “That you will only ever be a child living in this house?”

“I’m going to be soldier, like my father,” Kurt said.

He was not an attractive child when he was angry, Qui-Gon reflected, though that was hardly the most offensive part of his current demeanour.

“Soldiers live and die in locations,” Qui-Gon replied, voice cold and hard, “As do all living beings. If you have no awareness of the world you live in, the land you walk on and plants and creatures that may share your space, you will be a poor soldier. But you will do as you must. You are welcome to sit quietly or to leave this room. I will not stop you.”

He held Kurt’s gaze until he was certain that the boy understood the honesty in his words, and then he turned his back on him to help Marta with her reading exercise.

When he looked up, Kurt had left the room.

The mood was sombre and depressed for the rest of the morning, but he noted a thoughtful look on Liesl’s face.

She explained when they broke before the midday meal – “Did you mean that all living beings should know these things?” she asked, “Even if we never see a conurbation?”

He straightened from the pile of datachips he was reassembling.

“You have never heard of Coruscant?” he asked.

She flushed. “I’m never likely to see it,” she snapped.

He looked at her. “The future has not yet come to pass, Liesl. Be certain of yourself, your heart and your mind, and you may be surprised by where life takes you.”

Later, he found Kurt in the garden, kicking at the grass and damp from the sporadic rainfall.

“What do you want?” Kurt asked belligerently.

“Very little,” Qui-Gon admitted, “Shelter, water, food.”

Kurt looked at him, distrustful and wary, but he took his hands out of his pockets and stood still in the drizzle.

Qui-Gon folded his own hands patiently in front of him, shoulders relaxed and uncaring of the weather .

Kurt reddened and looked down. “I still don’t need to know any geography,” he blurted out, “Soldiers have maps. And everyone can see all the mountains and ground and trees.”

“What about poisonous plants?” Qui-Gon asked, “What about marshland and predators? What about underground caves and rockslides or frozen tundra or deserts? Do you understand how land and living beings form a symbiont relationship?”

“What does symbiont mean?”

“It means that each helps the other. The type of land determines your plants and creatures, who help to shape and maintain the land.”

He understood, however, how difficult it was to gain perspective at the age of eleven.

He sighed. “Kurt, you must do with your anger what you will. You can let it destroy your peace of mind, or you can examine what it is you are angry about. And ask yourself if it is worthy of such passion.”

He left the boy there and went indoors, sitting down at the table with his head full of Anakin and Xanatos, and how many times he had tried to help them control their tempers. How many times he had guided them to meditation, to reflection, to self-examination. All those times, and they had never learned.

He smiled at Gretl and methodically released his own frustration to the Force. She watched him while he did.

Kurt came to him in the evening, and sat down beside Friedrich as he took them through another meditative session.

By the time they went indoors, ruefully scrubbing at yet more grass stains and scraped knees and torn clothing, peace was restored, and Kurt grudgingly asked for his help the next morning as he tapped back into the geography lesson he was struggling with.

In the end it took ten days to establish a system of learning that focused on self-discipline rather than harsh rules. There were still groans when he kept them indoors, and more than a few moments of giddiness when he let them out to study in the sunshine.

He was lucky, perhaps, that the Captain’s seneschal returned to the house on the day that the children were at their most placid, obedient in a way that made him narrow his eyes at them in suspicion before Friedrich grinned at him.

“Mr. Quinn,” he said, “Did you know that Franz drives an RGC-10 landspeeder?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Louise giggled. “He means you can hear it when it drives up the path,” she whispered.

He swallowed down his smile. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he told them, and wondered when he had gained enough of their trust to gain their affection.

He was also bemused to receive his salary, delivered in hard currency by Franz with a discreet bow before he returned to the Capital.

Qui-Gon was used to the stipend issued to serving Jedi to pay for such necessities as they required but the Order trained their knights to need very little. Pilots often gave Jedi passage for free and mission arrangements usually included food and accommodation. True, often the free passage was an undesirable corner of a cargo ship, and it was never wise to count on the arrangements made by those who had an agenda, but they learned to be grateful for what they had and ask for no more.

He now found himself holding a generous amount of credits with no clear idea of what he was meant to do with them.

It was convenient, then, that within ten days the play clothes were finished, and Frau Schmidt’s sister-in-law was as good as her word. She made the clothes, and with them came two serviceable suits for the children’s tutor.

Payment for the labour at least seemed appropriate in the circumstances.

The children came with him to the tailor’s shop near the marketplace, trailing behind him in a line like gadwalls as they looked around.

They were strangely silent on their first trip outside the estate.

“The Captain doesn’t like the children to leave the grounds,” Frau Schmidt advised him.

“Captain Kenobi seems overly protective,” Qui-Gon remarked.

“Well, I suppose after the war on Sundari, he has learned to be. And then there’s all that talk of the fall of the Senate! We may be in the System of Neutral Planets but there is a great deal of unease.”

Qui-Gon was intimately aware that the System of Neutral Planets had been attacked repeatedly by the Separatists, and he doubted Palpatine would respect the boundaries of self-governance in his quest to build a new Sith Empire.

“Then we must put our faith in basic humanity,” he decided, “It’s time the children saw more of this world than their father’s house.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Frau Schmidt asked. For the first time she looked worried.

Qui-Gon smiled reassuringly. “I will take full responsibility. And no harm will come to the children.”

It was not a promise to make likely but time and the rising sun had reminded him that for all his fear, the future had not yet come to this planet. The present on Ortho Secondus was still peaceful. The flag was still blue and silver.

The village was busy enough, and quaint enough to make Marta’s eyes go wide as she took in the fruit stalls and flower stand, the mechanic’s workshop and the large pen with its speeders and parts.

Friedrich lingered by the shuttered office, watching the flickering adverts for new models in the window. Liesl went to join him; both of them gesturing and arguing and laughing at each other as they pointed from one to the other.

“You wouldn’t get one klick on that before you needed to refuel,” Liesl teased.

“If I had that, I wouldn’t be taking it on rough country roads, Liesl. It’s a city speeder.”

“For that price? I’d prefer something sturdier.”

“But it won’t look as good,” Friedrich argued.

Liesl snorted. “Then I won’t look like a fool when it breaks down.”

That evening, Qui-Gon stood by the stairs on the upstairs level and listened while the children congregated in a small sitting room downstairs.

There was much chattering and laughing, but there was also singing.

He found himself rather charmed by the sound.

Liesl had been right, he thought humorously, she wasn’t very practiced on the double viol, but it sounded well enough for a few old-fashioned folk songs and some children’s rhymes. Kurt and Louisa had surprisingly sweet voices, and Liesl sang as though her heart was in each note.

He debated the wisdom of joining them and in the end he didn’t, not wanting to make them self-conscious. There was the added concern that if he did go down there, he’d be roped into participating.

He’d never been known for his ability to sing.

Qui-Gon thought of Anakin, who used to hum the songs he’d learned on Tatooine under his breath when he was working on his robots, and Plo Koon, who used to sometimes sit with a stringed instrument in one of the smallest gardens in the Temple, content to play for no one and everyone.

Music had never been a traditional part of Temple life.

That night he slipped out again when the moon was at its highest and the house was still. He returned to the folly, and knelt upon the cold, dusty ground. Then he activated the comm unit and waited.

The request was accepted, the connection made, and the holovid was bluer in the dark shadows.

“Hello, Ahsoka,” he said pleasantly, and watched her surprise turn into genuine delight.

“Master Qui-Gon,” she said, “Am I glad to see you!”

“Tell me your news,” he invited, and settled in for the talk.


End file.
